Cold Walls, Cold Words and a Frayed Piece of Twine
by Angel of Harmony
Summary: As David watches Teddy Roosevelt’s carriage drive away with Jack in tow, he can’t help feeling a regretful despair over the fact that he never told Jack how he really felt. Slash, Javid. [Complete]
1. Good Things Never Come To Those Who Wait

**Title: **Cold Walls, Cold Words, and a Frayed Piece of Twine

**Chapter:** 1 (Good Things Never Come To Those Who Wait Too Long)

**Rating: **PG

**Synopsis: **As David watches Teddy Roosevelt's carriage drive away with Jack in tow, he can't help feeling a regretful despair over the fact that he never told Jack how he really felt, even when he had the perfect opportunity to the night before, when they were alone after the printing of the "Newsies Banner".

**Category: **Jack/David slash

**POV:** David

**Feedback: **Any and all constructive criticism would be lovely, whether e-mailed or left in a review.

**Disclaimer: **About the only thing I own in this fic is the piece of twine.

**Notes:** This is only my second Newsies fic, and it's still a bit rough. I'm more proud of it than my last fic, though, so hopefully people will like it. I only have this chapter written so far, but I promise to continue it soon. The ending is a little abrupt, but this was originally supposed to be a ficlet, not a chaptered story, and the way I cut if off is a little odd. Any feedback on how to fix that would be greatly appreciated. Also, most of my stories tend to be longwinded and full of exposition, and therefore this fic, with its short paragraphs/sentences and heavy use of dialogue, is a bit of an experiment, style-wise, for me, and I'm still not sure if it works or not. So, any feedback on that aspect of the story would be appreciated as well. Otherwise, just enjoy the fic.

**Cold Walls, Cold Words, and a Frayed Piece of Twine**

_By Angel of Harmony/Harmony/Jen_

He left. He really left. Oh, God. He's gone. I can't believe it. How could he do that? Leave. Leave us. Leave me.

Not that I gave him any reason to stay. Why should he have stayed, after last night? After what I said, how I acted?

Why did I act like that? How could I have missed my opportunity? Seize the day, right? Ha. I'm too much of a coward even to follow my own advice. And because of that, I'm standing here now, watching the billowing dust trail of the carriage that's carrying the man I love to the other side of the country.

Sarah is crying. So is Les. They're holding on to me, clutching onto my clothes, sobbing into my shoulder. I want to shake them off and run, run away, run after that carriage, run all the way to Santa Fe, if I need to.

But it's too late to fix my mistakes. I have to be the strong one, the stoic one, the one who's there to comfort my family.

Because I'm not the only one whose heart is breaking. For Les, Jack was a hero, an idol to worship- a real live cowboy. For his hero to just desert him… well, it has to be tearing him up inside. And as for Sarah… As much as I hate to admit it, I know she loved him, too, possibly just as much as I did. And, unlike me, she never even got the chance to tell him that.

I got my chance. I could have told him everything, last night. And what did I say? Absolutely nothing.

We were in the basement of the distribution center. All the papes were finally printed, and Denton had just left, mumbling something about going back to his apartment to arrange a few things and promising to meet us by the World building later in the morning. Les was already out delivering copies of our proud little flier to the sweatshop kids, and Sarah had gone with him. Jack and I were the only ones left in the room, and we sat, exhausted, on the dusty floor, leaning against the welcome coolness of the stone walls and surveying our handiwork.

Picking up a stray copy of the Newsies Banner and holding it up to the dim morning light, Jack grinned.

"Well, Dave, if nuttin' else, we put out a damn good pape."

I smiled in return, running a hand through my tangled hair and closing my eyes briefly as fatigue from the sleepless night began to set in.

"Yeah, we did."

Jack didn't say anything after that, and I assumed that, like me, he was simply too tired to continue the conversation. However, when I glanced his way, I found him, not lying peacefully against the wall, but awkwardly biting his lip and fiddling with the frayed ends of a random piece of twine.

"What's wrong?" I asked, automatically placing a hand on his arm in concern.

Tossing away the twine, Jack looked up into my face, apprehension in his eyes. In return, I raised one eyebrow slightly, widening my eyes in an expression that clearly said, "_You know you can tell me anything_."

Jack shook his head and looked at the floor. I waited patiently, knowing he would speak when he was ready. Finally, biting his lip, he began, hesitantly, "It's just… I nevah really apologized, ya know? For becomin' a scab an' all. Betrayin' youse."

Against my will, I felt my fingers curl into a fist. Not this. Anything but this.

Since the time Jack had come barreling in to save me from the Delanceys, I'd tried to forget his betrayal, his momentary crossover into enemy territory. He'd come back, and that's all that had mattered. I hadn't wanted to remember how viciously shocking it was to see him in that fine grey suit, spitting harsh insults into my barely composed face. I hadn't wanted to remember the crushed expressions of the other boys when they realized that their leader, their hero, had really abandoned them.

And, most of all, I hadn't wanted to remember the way _I_ had felt: betrayed, yes, and angry, but also hurt, so deeply that it chilled me to even think about it. My heart had felt broken, like I'd just lost the love of my life.

But Jack was just a friend- it wasn't- I didn't- I couldn't- have any other emotion for him.

So I'd locked it away, everything. Jack was back; there was no point in dwelling on the past. But now the subject had returned, and all the anger, hurt, and heartbrokenness I'd felt was slowly seeping back.

"No, Jack; it's ok, really. You don't have to apologize," I stammered, a little desperate. Maybe if he stopped talking about it right now, I could lock all the emotions away again, pretend they weren't there, had never been there to begin with.

"No, Dave, I have to. I gotta explain… I mean, ya gotta know…" he trailed off, his eyes begging me to listen.

I sighed and, despite the rushing torrent of emotion already building up inside of me, nodded. How could I argue? He deserved the chance to explain, whether I could handle it or not.

But as the anger rose, I couldn't fight the urge to make a bitter comment before letting him speak. "Fine," I spat, "Go ahead, tell me your reasons. But really, why do you need them? I'd say you made them all pretty clear the other day. You can't afford to be a kid anymore, right? Being a newsie never gave you anything but a few black eyes. You needed the money. I heard you."

Jack shook his head, closing his eyes and rubbing his temples for a few seconds before responding. "That's not why I did it. You gotta know that, Dave. I wouldn't be heah tonight if I really meant everythin' I said that day."

Spotting Jack's discarded scrap of twine, I stared intently at it, trying to make out the subtle twist in its strands. Anything to avoid looking into those eyes.

"Then why'd you say it?" My voice cracked slightly as I spoke, my anger deflated.

"Well, ta tell ya the honest truth, I did it for you."


	2. Should I Swallow Up The Night?

**Title: **Cold Walls, Cold Words, and a Frayed Piece of Twine

**Chapter:** 2- Should I Swallow Up the Night?

**Rating: **PG

**Synopsis: **As David watches Teddy Roosevelt's carriage drive away with Jack in tow, he can't help feeling a regretful despair over the fact that he never told Jack how he really felt, even when he had the perfect opportunity to the night before, when they were alone after the printing of the "Newsies Banner".

**Category: **Jack/David slash

**POV:** David

**Feedback: **Any and all constructive criticism would be lovely, whether e-mailed or left in a review.

**Disclaimer: **About the only thing I own in this fic is the piece of twine.

**Notes:** Here it is, chapter two. As it's looking now, this should turn out to be about four chapters, but that could change, depending on how this goes. I have a general idea of what's going to happen next, but it hasn't been written yet. Hopefully, I'll have the next chapter out fairly soon. Enjoy, and please review, if you get the chance! And massive thanks to everyone who reviewed chapter one! I greatly, greatly appreciate it.

**Cold Walls, Cold Words, and a Frayed Piece of Twine**

_By Angel of Harmony/Harmony/Jen_

"I did it for you."

I looked up, temporarily tearing my gaze away from the twine to squint at Jack with an expression of complete perplexity.

"What do you mean, 'you did it for me'?"

Jack sat up a little straighter against the cold wall, shifting his knees.

"Well, you and all da udda boys, really. But mainly you."

He wasn't making himself any clearer, and I told him as much.

"I don't understand."

"Well, you know that Pulitzah had me up in 'is office, right?"

"Right."

"Well, when I was up there an' all, ol' Joe, he didn' scare me one bit. He tried real hard to make an impression on me, scare me right outa me boots, an' I didn' heah a woid of it."

"Until he offered you a new suit and a free trip to Santa Fe, right?" I interjected sarcastically. My anger was rising again.

"Jeez, Dave! Can't you jus' let me finish?" he exclaimed, throwing his hands up in frustration. "And no, that ain't what made me change my mind. Even when 'e spouted all that bull about da money, I just spit it back in 'is face. I wasn't about ta sell youse out for a few lousy bucks an' a train ticket."

I looked down again, ashamed of the anger that still churned in my stomach.

"So what did make you change your mind?"

"Well, Joe, he decided to change his angle aftah the money thing didn' woik out. He started shootin' all this bull about how he'd break da strike, like 'e always said. But this time, 'e started talkin' 'bout what'd happen ta all da boys if the strike did end. How they'd all get sent ta the refuge. An' at foist I thought 'e was jus' bluffin', so I didn't pay no attention. But 'e jus' kept on goin', an' then 'e mentioned you. How da refuge'd take you, an' how your fam'ly wouldn' have no way ta make money, an' all that. An' I still wanted to think 'e was bluffin', so I left. But then I saw you, and I thought about what it'd really mean if you got sent ta da refuge. I know what jail's like; I know what they do to ya there. An' I jus' couldn't let that happen ta you."

"So you thought I was too weak to take it." My words were sharp and cold.

"No, Dave. You'se jus' about the strongest guy I know. But nobody should have ta go through what they do to ya at da refuge. It's not that ya couldn' take it. It's that I didn' want ya to hafta take it." Jack stared me right in the eye as he said it, making sure that I understood the naked honesty of his words.

I knew he was telling the truth, and that scared me. Because knowing that he really did care, knowing that I really did mean something to him, well… it just made it even harder to contain all the emotions I'd been hiding. And I couldn't let myself express the… whatever unknown, dangerous thing it was that I felt. So, instead, I turned to my tried-and-true "safe" reaction: anger.

"Alright, Jack. I believe you." My voice was hoarse, my eyes narrowed. "But if you thought I was so strong, what did you think would happen when you scabbed? You couldn't have thought too highly of me if you didn't think I could handle leading the strike without you." It was a legitimate complaint. What had he been thinking? Did he really think I was too weak to lead?

Jack bit his lip, then stood up, brushing the dust off his pants and fiddling with the rope at his belt. He was stalling.

"Well?" I prompted, mimicking his actions. If I was going to challenge him, it was going to be face to face.

"I… well…" he stuttered, not meeting my eyes. "I mean, you and Spot nevah got along too good. I guess I figered youse would fight or somethin', and then it'd all fall apart…" He trailed off, still staring at the ground in the direction of that same, sad little piece of twine.

It was a weak excuse. "You're lying. You know Spot and I've learned to work together, especially since we're fighting for the same thing. It's a mutual respect, and you know it." This time my anger was genuine. He'd been so honest a moment ago. The return of his lies stung like a whip.

Jack seemed to realize he'd made a mistake, and he stared into my eyes, silently begging me for the forgiveness he'd craved at the start of the conversation.

"You're right, Dave. I shouldn' be lyin' anymoah. Not ta you. But da truth is, I guess I jus'… overestimated myself, or somethin'. I didn' think you was anythin' less. I jus' thought I was somethin' moah."

"So you're admitting that you're a pompous egotist?" Why was I saying these things? I didn't mean them. I wasn't really angry. But still, I allowed the harsh words to spill from my mouth. "You admit that you thought the strike couldn't possibly survive without you? That you were the single-handed savior of the newsies, and I was nothing but a walking mouth?"

"No! I mean, yes. I mean…" Jack's hand was on my shoulder now, gripping me tightly as he searched my cold eyes. "Yeah, I was self-centahed. Yeah, I exaggerated my woith. But I nevah, evah thought you was anythin' less."

"Well, what about when you came back? When you felt the need to 'save' me from the Delanceys. I could have handled it. I could have protected my sister and brother. I didn't need you to swoop down and be the knight in shining armor," I spat. I was lying, and I knew it. If Jack hadn't been there, I'd probably be six feet under by now, or at least sporting a sling or two. But the thought that Jack considered me to be weak was driving me insane, and I had to prove him wrong. I wasn't weak. I wasn't.

Jack had stepped away from me, and that's when I noticed that he was shaking. Really shaking, not just shivering or something. And when he finally spoke, although I could tell he was trying to make his words calm and cautious, they came out as a half-shouted, strangled sob.

"Don't you undastand?" His eyes were wide, and, I noticed, slightly glassy. "Don't you get why I did all this? Why I couldn' let you go ta the refuge, why I scabbed, why I soaked the Delanceys? I didn't do it 'cause I thought you was weak! I did it, Dave, because I'm in love with you!"

I stood perfectly still, staring at him with wide eyes. He was breathing slowly, not daring to be the first to move, waiting apprehensively for my reaction.

The information wasn't processing in my mind. He… no. He couldn't. He couldn't really mean what he'd just said.

"Wh-what did you say?" I finally managed to stutter, breaking the silence.

Jack looked down, taking several deep breaths before speaking. "I love you, Dave. I'm in love with you. That's why I couldn' let ya go ta the refuge, that's why I scabbed. Somehow, in some way I don' really undastand, I'se fallen in love with you. And I couldn' bear ta see you get hoit."

My mind swirled. Suddenly, I felt faint and dizzy, and I leaned against the stone wall for support. Thoughts and emotions were whirling through my brain, and I couldn't even begin to sort them out.

He loved me. He was in love with me.

Could I love him too? Was that what I'd been trying to hide, lock away? Should I tell him that? Maybe it could be good. Maybe…

But, no! It was wrong, so wrong. I couldn't… Besides, Jack deserved better. Better than me. And what about Sarah? I couldn't do this to her. No. This was bad.

Later, when it was too late, I would realize that those frenzied thoughts were just excuses. That I should have told Jack what I felt right then, confessed, gotten everything out in the open. But I was scared; I admit it now. I didn't know how to react. And so, in a fit of fear and confusion, I simply continued to act the way I had been acting: angry.

Jack was still looking down at the floor when I began to speak, my words spitting out through clenched teeth.

"You call that an excuse?"

Slowly, he looked up, shock and confusion clouding his eyes. "What?" he asked, his voice nearly a whisper.

"You heard me." I cringed inwardly at my harshness. Why was I doing this to him? Why? But I couldn't stop. "That's no excuse. I don't care why you did it. You still scabbed. You still betrayed us. You still thought I was weak."

Jack's jaw dropped open. He looked about ready to cry, and that scared me. Never had I imagined that Jack Kelly, our godlike leader, could be capable of tears. "But I just told you I'm in love with you," he practically squeaked, obviously trying to retain what was left of his composure.

"I don't care." The words were like a slap, not just to his face, but to my own. What was wrong with me? Why was I intentionally hurting the one person I cared about more than anyone else? Finally, I couldn't take the conversation anymore, and I quickly continued, "Look, we have to deliver these papes. We have a strike to lead. The newsies are depending on us. Let's go."

And with that, I grabbed a stack of papes and climbed out the basement window, grinding my shoe into the piece of twine that still lay forlornly on the ground as I went. I knew Jack was following me, but I didn't dare look back to check, too afraid to see the pain in his eyes, the pain that I myself had caused.


	3. There's Something I Should Have Told You

**Title: **Cold Walls, Cold Words, and a Frayed Piece of Twine

**Chapter:** 3- There's Something I Should Have Told You

**Rating: **PG

**Synopsis: **As David watches Teddy Roosevelt's carriage drive away with Jack in tow, he can't help feeling a regretful despair over the fact that he never told Jack how he really felt, even when he had the perfect opportunity to the night before, when they were alone after the printing of the "Newsies Banner".

**Category: **Jack/David slash

**POV:** David

**Feedback: **Any and all constructive criticism would be lovely, whether e-mailed or left in a review.

**Disclaimer: **About the only thing I own in this fic is the piece of twine.

**Notes:** I apologize profusely for the delay with this chapter. I've been extremely busy, and I have had absolutely no time to do this. But, I finally found time, so, here it is, chapter 3. It's a long one- about twice as long as the first two chapters were- and I'm pretty satisfied with it, especially now after it's been beta-ed by the lovely and talented Shimmerwings. (Many, many hugs and thanks to her!)

Two specific notes: 1.) Any words that are written as word are intended to be italicized. I just couldn't get that to work right in my uploading. 2.) I feel bad that I haven't done shout outs with this story, so I think I'm just going to lump all shout outs into the last chapter, which should be written and posted relatively soon. So, anyway, here it is. Enjoy, and leave a review if you care to.

**Cold Walls, Cold Words, and a Frayed Piece of Twine**

_By Angel of Harmony/Harmony/Jen_

We still hadn't spoken a word by the time we met up with Les and Sarah, who had somehow managed to get their hands on a delivery wagon for their use. I had no idea how they'd gotten it, and, knowing my siblings, I had the feeling that I didn't want to find out, so I didn't bother to ask.

Carefully, we climbed one by one into the back, and once we were all loaded Les gave a shrill whistle, signaling the driver to begin our short journey. Despite the fact that Jack and I were forced into physical closeness by the cramped space of the wagon, we still didn't speak, avoiding even the slightest instance of eye contact.

Sarah, perceptive as she is, noticed our distance. "What's wrong with you two?" she asked, looking puzzled. "I've never seen you like this before."

I quickly plastered on a very fake smile. "We're just tired, is all," I responded. It wasn't a total lie; the exhaustion of the sleepless night was definitely catching up with me.

Sarah looked at my skeptically, then glanced in Jack's direction. "Oh my, Jack. Your eyes- they're terribly bloodshot. I suppose you two really are tired."

I looked up automatically to see what Sarah was talking about, despite my desire not to look at Jack. She was right- his eyes were bloodshot. But I knew it wasn't from sleeplessness. My stomach twisted as I took in the full effects of my cruelty, and I bit my lip, looking down again.

No one in the wagon said anything after that, and we got to the square a few minutes later. Everyone else had already arrived, and a few called out "Hey, Cowboy!" and "How's it goin', Davey?" as we climbed down from the wagon. Mostly, though, the boys just nodded in acknowledgement of our presence. It seemed everyone was just as worn out as we were.

Jack tore away from Les, Sarah, and me as soon as we got to the base of the statue, walking off to talk to a group that included Racetrack, Bumlets, and a few others. My eyes followed him, but I didn't.

Instead, I leaned tiredly against the statue, watching Les play-fighting with Boots and Snipeshooter. Sarah, obviously realizing that I was upset despite my efforts to convince her otherwise, stayed with me, putting her arm around my shoulder in a maternal hug. I returned the hug, but I felt nothing. Physically, I was numb.

Mentally, though, I'd never been more alive. My thoughts were still swimming, and had been ever since I'd left the basement. Now, as I watched Jack pointedly avoid looking in my direction, feelings of guilt began to grow larger, adding to the swirling mess of emotions already running through my head.

Why had I hurt him like that? Even if I didn't reciprocate his feelings (and I wasn't quite sure that I didn't), I could have been nicer about everything. What was I talking about, back there in the basement, when I'd spewed all those awful words? He'd acted wrongly, sure. But he'd done it because he loved me. Wasn't that enough? Why did I have to react like I did?

Because you were scared! A little voice inside of me screamed.

Scared of what? Scared of his love? Scared of my own possible feelings?

I didn't know what to think, and I had even less of an idea of how to feel. I knew that I wanted to help Jack, apologize, tell him that I hadn't meant what I'd said, at the very least. I couldn't stand knowing that I had caused the hurt and pain I could see so clearly behind his brown eyes.

But, somehow, I couldn't bring myself to say anything. My doubts and conflicted feelings held me back, and I pressed my hands to the sides of my head, which was suddenly throbbing violently, in a desperate attempt to squeeze out the confusion.

"So when're the others comin', Kid?" I heard Mush ask, somewhat despondently, bringing my thoughts back to the realities of the morning. Mentally, I berated myself for focusing on anything else. My situation with Jack was tiny in importance compared to the strike, and I knew, as one of the leaders, that I had to keep my mind on it, not on my personal problems. Even if those personal problems had to do with the other strike leader.

Jack, who had squatted down next to Sarah a few moments earlier, still ignoring me, stood up and responded to Mush before Blink could, his tone cynical and dejected. "They ain't comin'. Ain't gonna be nobody but us." It was the first time I'd heard his voice since we'd left the distribution center.

I flinched at the bitterness in his voice, wanting desperately to reach out and console him, give him back the hope he'd always been brimming with, but I still couldn't move.

My brother, meanwhile, had stopped playing with Boots and was quietly surveying our group, taking in our dejected, defeated faces. Full of childhood optimism, Les seemed to be the only one left with any hope for our success, and he tried to cheer us up, reciting parts of the inspiring words Jack had given on the day the strike started- my words. Even though my outlook was just as negative as everyone else's- probably even more so, considering everything else that was going on in my head- I pretended to look optimistic once again, not wanting to spoil Les' admirable hope. Soon enough, the others followed suit.

As everyone began to gather into a cluster, I finally found the courage to walk over to Jack and tentatively place a hand on his shoulder in an attempt to comfort him. Snapping his head in my direction, he immediately hissed, "No, Dave." My hand dropped like a stone, and my guilt multiplied.

Suddenly, there was a roar like I'd never heard before, and a swarming mass of kids rolled toward us from all sides, screaming, cheering, and holding their strike signs proudly. I saw Spot leading the Brooklyn gang, easily the rowdiest of all, his cane held high above his head. I also saw a few Western Union messengers I'd passed on the street from time to time and had sometimes struck up a conversation with.

Mostly, though, I saw hundreds, maybe even thousands, of kids I'd never met, kids from all different jobs and from all parts of the city, converging on the square, ready to fight, not just for our rights, but for their own. My heart, so twisted with dark emotions, suddenly began to feel lighter as a new emotion filled it: pride. We'd done it. We'd really done it.

Almost automatically, I turned to Jack and threw my arms around him in a congratulatory hug, and he reciprocated. All thoughts of the night before had been squashed away by the joy of the moment. But the second we looked into each other's eyes, our arms fell uncomfortably to our sides, and we looked away, destroying my temporary illusion that everything could be ok.

Why would everything be ok? That inner voice screamed again. You're the one that caused the problem. Why should it be fixed if you haven't fixed it?

But that wasn't what was important right now, I reminded myself. This was it: the strike was finally happening, for real. I needed to focus.

The crowd was pulsing wildly, screams and chants filling the air, but somehow I still managed to pick out Race's voice from the din. "Deah me, what have we heah?" he asked, his tone hinting that he'd noticed something important. I followed his eyes to see what had caught his interest.

An older, white-haired man in expensive clothes had opened the distribution gates and seemed to be discussing something with a couple of younger police officers. A second later the two men came over to our group, searching the crowd with their eyes.

"Who are your leaders?" the shorter of the two asked, narrowing his eyes. Before I could even blink, I felt someone pushing me from behind, and suddenly Jack and I were front and center, staring at the uniformed men.

The shorter cop looked at each of us in turn, sizing us up and down, before speaking. Finally, grabbing my arm in his fist, he said, in a cold monotone, "You are to come with us." Looking to my left, I saw that the other cop had grabbed Jack as well, and we were quickly led through the chanting crowd to the distribution gates, where we were released to the white-haired man Racetrack had noticed.

The man didn't introduce himself, or even directly acknowledge our presence. He simply stared down at us for a few seconds, then said, "Come with me," and turned abruptly toward the World building.

Jack and I followed, the crowd cheering louder with every step we took. We walked about two feet apart, and neither of us spoke for a few moments. Despite the incredible amount of noise in the square, it was this silence that seemed the most deafening. Finally, it was Jack who decided to break it.

"Hey, look, Dave, you said it yaself. The boys is dependin' on us," he began, staring at me with his bloodshot eyes. "So, I know I'se not ya fav'rite person right about now, but wherevah we're goin', ya think you could maybe at least pretend ta like me? To show 'em solidarity an' all?"

Oh, God, I thought. He really thinks I hate him. He really, really thinks I hate him.

Dumbstruck by this realization, my head spinning, I could only manage a slight nod in response. I wanted to tell him that I didn't hate him, take back every awful word I'd said the night before. But my mind was a mess, and I couldn't seem to form the words. By the time I'd gotten myself under control, we were inside the World building, facing a heavy oak door.

Slowly, the white-haired man opened the door and let us in. That's when I realized where we were: in the office of Joseph Pulitzer.

Never, in all my daydreams about how the strike would end, had I ever even considered the possibility that I would have to confront Mr. Pulitzer himself. A certain nervousness flooded my body at the sight of him, and I hung back, staying near the far end of the office to give myself time to figure out how I could possibly approach someone of his stature. I hated him for what he had done to the newsies, and I hated him even more for manipulating Jack. But seeing this man, this legend, in the flesh, was still an awe-inspiring event.

Jack, on the other hand, shared none of my apprehensions or my awe. Boldly, he marched right up to Pulitzer's desk, pulling a copy of our banner out of his pocket and slapping it down on the desk. "Extry, extry, Joe. Read all about it."

I watched, amazed, as Pulitzer's face contorted in anger. His nearsighted eyes blazing, he lashed out at Jack, threatening him. But, just as suddenly, his anger seemed to partially deflate. "Now, I gave you a chance to be free," he said, puffing heavily on his cigar. "I don't understand. Anyone who doesn't act in their own self interest is a fool."

Emboldened by Jack's brashness, I stepped out of the corner and, taking a deep breath, responded. "Then what does that make you?"

Pulitzer snapped his head up, squinting past Jack to try to see me as I made my way to the desk. "What?" he asked.

Jack, grinning with arrogant defiance, put his arm around me, flinching only slightly when his hand touched my shoulder. "Oh, dis is my pal, Davey. The Walkin' Mouth," he explained, smirking.

My own smile, as false as Jack's but not nearly as convincing, wavered slightly before I could continue, but I gathered up the rest of my courage and managed to speak. "You talk about self interest," I began, carefully, "but since the strike, your circulation's been down seventy percent. Every day you're losing thousands of dollars just to beat us out of one lousy tenth of a cent. Why?"

Breathing deeply, I turned to look at Jack, searching his face for a reaction to my nervously delivered words. As I watched, Jack's subtle grin spread a little bit wider, and when he looked at me for a split second, his eyes, while still so obviously full of hurt, seemed to be sending another emotion as well- pride. Jack, I realized, didn't think I was weak, not at all. He was proud of me. You did it, the eyes seemed to say. And I always knew you could.

Then, suddenly, he was turning back to Pulitzer, carrying my argument forward with a passion like I'd never imagined. Pulitzer made his idle threats, his weak comebacks, but Jack was on fire. Walking behind the desk, he threw open the windows, letting in the full, potent force of the sight and sound of the chanting mob. He screamed at Pulitzer, commanding his attention, letting him know that he and all the other big shots no longer had their power; that the power belonged to us, the newsies, the kids- the people. Jack's face was flushed, and it seemed I could almost physically see the intense emotions ripping through his electrified body.

And he was beautiful.

That's all I could think, as he yelled and pounced and pounded his hand on Pulitzer's desk. He was beautiful, handsome- stunning, even.

Because it wasn't just physical beauty. The way his tousled hair and bronzed skin seemed to glow in the sunlight pouring in from the open window, the way his eyes caught that same light and turned it into the million fractured embers that made up his irises- that part, that beauty, was physical.

But there was more, so much more. His passion, his feeling, his caring, his determination, his courage; every wonderful quality seemed to shine in those few moments, as if they, too, had been lit up by that same piercing sunlight, making him the most amazing creature in the universe.

And I knew, right then, that I was in love.

I must have been in love before that moment. But watching him right then triggered something inside of me. I don't even know what it was, but suddenly, all of the doubt and confusion and fear that had been tearing up my mind and heart slowly dissipated, and all that was left was love, pure and unhindered by indecision and cowardice.

I had to tell him. Now, the need to take back all of my vicious words from the night before became overpowering. I needed to explain, to tell him the truth, to tell him that I loved him- all the things I should have said last night. I imagined pulling him to the side as soon as we left that building, maybe into some alley or behind a wagon, and soothing all of his pain and hurt with a loving kiss.

But, first, we needed to win the strike.

Over the course of my revelation Jack had calmed down slightly, and the window was now closed. Once Pulitzer discovered that it was his press that we'd used to print the banner, his face fell, and he was suddenly much calmer. Finally, he knew he'd been beaten. Calling over the white-haired man, Seitz, Pulitzer sighed. "All right, boys," he said, wiping his glasses on his shirtsleeve. "What is it that you want?"

The deal was settled quickly, a clear victory for us. As we shook hands with Pulitzer, Jack shot me a warm, albeit hesitant, smile of congratulations, and I returned it. We'd won. As impossible as it was to believe, we'd won.

When we returned to the crowd, Jack quickly whispered the results to Les, then lifted him onto his shoulders and screamed, with all the jubilation anyone would expect, "We beat 'em!"

The explosion that followed was louder than anything I'd ever heard in my life, as every single child in the crowd screamed with joy. I immediately found myself surrounded by newsies, all of them hugging me, patting me on the back, full of congratulations. I almost thought I would suffocate.

But my happiness was overwhelming. We'd won the strike, and I was in love. In a few minutes, I would tell Jack my feelings, and then everything would be wonderful. Just wonderful.

I'd lost Jack somewhere in the crowd, but I didn't worry about it much. I knew he was probably being as swamped as I was in hugs and pats, and I knew I'd find him soon enough, to tell him what I felt. Besides, too much was going on at that moment for me to concentrate fully on Jack. I saw the Delanceys and Weasel being led to a police car, just as Jack and I had insisted. But I also saw, even more importantly, the appearance of Snyder's police carriage in the crowd.

At first, I was gripped with fear; they couldn't take Jack back now, not after all of this! But soon, my panic was replaced with even more happiness, as I saw the boys from the refuge leave the carriage, one by one, and there was Crutchy, looking much healthier and happier than the last time I'd seen him. He climbed out and, to the elation of everyone in the square, shoved Warden Snyder into the back of the carriage to be carted off to where he belonged. I grinned wildly. Now, nothing could take Jack away from me. Nothing.

I could hear Crutchy babbling excitedly from about ten feet away, and, turning in that direction, I saw that he'd found Jack. I only caught a few words and phrases as the voices of Crutchy and Denton blended together: Teddy Roosevelt, governor, problem, anywhere you want to go.

But the next phrase I heard was quite clear. "So, can he drop me at the train yards?" It was Jack's voice.

"Yeah, if that's what you want," I heard Denton reply.

Train yards? What? What was Jack talking about?

Looking around, I spotted the Governor, Teddy Roosevelt, sitting in a grandiose carriage, waving and bowing to all of the kids. Then, turning in the carriage, the Governor motioned to Jack, who began to walk through the crowd toward him.

That's when it hit me, the reality of everything. Jack thought I hated him. He'd won the strike, and he'd fulfilled his obligations to the newsies. What was stopping him from leaving, now? What was stopping him from going to Santa Fe?

I wanted to scream, to run, to yell to him and beg him to stay, confess everything, right there, in front of everyone, just to stop him. But I was paralyzed, trapped by my own shock and disbelief.

I could feel Sarah and Les approaching me, leaning against me, as I watched Jack climb into the carriage, my mind a blur of miserable futility. Within seconds, the carriage was beginning to roll, and kids were scrambling out of its way.

A second before, I'd been happier than I could ever remember being, filled to capacity with joy and hopeful love. And now, all of that hope and happiness was rolling away on the Governor's carriage, destined to become buzzard food in the scorching deserts of New Mexico.

I'd lost it. I'd lost my chance. I'd lost everything. I'd lost him.


	4. Why Don't You and I

**Title: **Cold Walls, Cold Words, and a Frayed Piece of Twine

**Chapter:** 4- Why Don't You and I

**Rating: **PG

**Synopsis: **As David watches Teddy Roosevelt's carriage drive away with Jack in tow, he can't help feeling a regretful despair over the fact that he never told Jack how he really felt, even when he had the perfect opportunity to the night before, when they were alone after the printing of the "Newsies Banner".

**Category: **Jack/David slash

**POV:** David

**Feedback: **Any and all constructive criticism would be lovely, whether e-mailed or left in a review.

**Disclaimer: **About the only thing I own in this fic is the piece of twine.

**Notes:** It's finished! Finally! First of all, I want to apologize a million times over for the extreme amount of time (nearly 6 months) this chapter was delayed. I had a really, really bad case of writer's block over the summer, and the beginning of school left me with absolutely no free time. Also, my old computer temporarily crashed, and, though I didn't lose the story, I had to wait until the computer was fixed to work on this again, as the half of the chapter I had already written was stored on it. Now, finally, I'm done with the story, and I hope you all enjoy it. This is the longest thing I've ever written from start to finish, and I'm proud of that fact. And I apologize again, many more times than I can possibly express, for the delay. I promise, it won't let it happen again! So, anyway, enjoy. Shoutouts will follow.

P.S. This story marks the end of my overuse of the "New Yawk" accent. Frankly, it drives me up the wall, and the only reason I used it in this chapter is for consistency's sake. Believe me, by the end, I was ready to rip out the apostrophe key on my computer and stomp on it. I realize that others can pull the accent off well, and I salute you, but I am not one of those people. So, no more accent for me.

Ok. _Now_, onto the story.

**Cold Walls, Cold Words, and a Frayed Piece of Twine**  
_By Angel of Harmony/Harmony/Jen_

Still standing in the slowly emptying square, I brush furiously at my eyes, willing myself to stop my tears before they come. Les and Sarah have detached themselves from my side, but they still stand nearby, their eyes red and glassy from crying.

The dust from the departing carriage has completely settled by now, and I know that staring at the spot that I last saw it won't bring him back. I tear my eyes away, finally, but I can't do the same with my thoughts.

_But you have to._ I berate myself. _You're the only leader left. You may have won the strike, but the newsies still need you._

I sigh, resigned, then smile weakly, pushing back my sweaty curls. "Well, what are we waiting for?" I call out, catching the newsies' attention. "Let's get our papes!"

My voice is hollow. I'm sure they can all detect my lack of enthusiasm, but no one says a word. I suppose they understand, at least partially, how I feel. They may be used to a constant stream of friends coming and going, but I'm not. Jack was- is- my best friend, and the boys know that. They don't need to know just how much more than that it was to understand my melancholy.

But it _was_ more than that. He loved me. I loved- love- him. And if I hadn't been such a coward, such a fool, I could have told him that. I had the power, and what did I do with it? Nothing.

And now he's gone. He's really, actually gone. I don't think the shock has fully reached me yet. The word seems like some foreign language in my mind; it doesn't make sense. Gone. Jack. Gone. And all because of me.

By this point, I've reached the window of the distribution center. Exuding false confidence, I march up to the counter, staring defiantly into the friendly-seeming eyes of the new manager.

"A hundred papes." My voice is cool and confident as I slap down my fifty-cent piece, and the newsies around me begin to talk excitedly, Mush and Race offering words of encouragement as they slap me on the back.

I wish I could feel the carefree happiness they feel now. I want to experience the exhilarating rush of victory that should be running through my bloodstream. We won the strike. We _won_.

But, no matter how hard I try, I can't look at it that way. We may have won this, but I've lost something much more important. And, at this moment, that thought is all that my brain can process.

I feel lost. Lost and aimless and shocked and angry and defeated and empty. Part of me hates Jack for leaving. Sure, he may have hated me, for what I said. But how could he leave the others? He didn't hate them. How could he leave Les and Sarah, who love him, or Mush and Blink and Race and Crutchy and all of his other friends?

But this thought just leads me back to my own self-hatred. Yeah, he left them. But he left because of me. So _I'm_ the reason that Les and Sarah are wiping away their tears, _I'm_ the reason that the newsies have lost their leader and friend. If I hadn't… God, what is wrong with me? Why did I have to do all I did, say all I did? Why?

I am a miserable excuse for a human being. There's no other explanation.

Mush nudges my arm, and I look up blearily. Realizing that I've been standing at the counter this whole time, staring down at my papes, I begin to move out of the way. The boys say nothing; they probably think I've just been basking in the victorious satisfaction of getting a hundred papes for only fifty cents, and I make no move to correct that thought. The false smile I've managed to keep on my face until now has crumbled, and I turn away from the others, hoping to conceal the emptiness of my expression.

I feel dead.

Suddenly, a resurgence of cheers hits my ears, welling up from the streets. Not sure of how much more jubilation I'll be able to stand, I ignore it, keeping my head turned away from the crowd. But the cheers are persistent, and suddenly Mush is grabbing frantically at my arm, pointing into the crowd.

"It's Jack!" Racetrack screams over the din. Mush grips my shoulders even harder and echoes Race's declaration as I turn my head in the direction of the noise. _No, they're lying_, I think. _Jack is gone. They're just playing some kind of cruel, cruel joke._

But if he's gone, why is Teddy Roosevelt's coach back in the square? Why are the newsies swarming toward it like the stampedes of buffalo that I've read about in the dime store novels? And why can I see that oh-so-familiar sandy brown head rising above the mob like that of some ancient god?

He's back. I can barely believe it, can barely register the fact, but I know my eyes aren't lying. Jack is really back.

My heart beats faster as Jack turns to the newsies, waving as he climbs down from the carriage. Still unable to fully accept the scene before me, I fleetingly ponder that I must be dreaming, but I know that's not possible; the newsies are swarming over to him now, and I can hear his name being called out by a hundred different voices.

I'm sure the shock is evident in the half-smile planted on my face, because at this moment, I have no idea what to think or feel. I'm overcome with happiness, thankfulness, and joyful surprise, but an equal part of me is suddenly scared, worried, apprehensive. What will he do, when he sees me? Will he even speak to me? Will I be able to make things right?

And, on top of this all, an even smaller part of me, a truly fearful part, worries that, maybe, this really is too good to be true. Maybe he's just back to say goodbye, to do one last thing before he leaves for good. Maybe, after this last fleeting, tantalizing, illusory moment ends, I'll still have to face the fact that I'll never see the man I love again.

I will _not_ let that happen. Not this time.

He's saying something to the Governor, who smiles, and then, suddenly, he's looking straight at me, a strange expression on his face. I try to control my own expression as he makes his way through the swarming crowd, greeting dozens of cheering newsies and bending down to ruffle the mousy head of Les, who has latched himself firmly to his waist. Finally, disentangling himself from Les, Jack stops about five feet from where I stand, still on the platform.

"So, how's the headline today?" He's still staring at me with that indecipherable expression, and I'm not sure what to think. Is he trying to make things right? Or is he simply playing his part, pretending to be his friendly self for the sake of the others?

With an unsure half-grin, pulling my hat nervously out of my pocket and over my hair as I speak, I respond with the only thing that makes sense, an echo of the words Jack spoke those two lifetime-long weeks ago.

"Headlines don't sell papes. Newsies sell papes."

This, of course, elicits yet another wave of cheers from the mob, but I ignore it, focusing instead on Jack's still-unreadable brown eyes. "Come here, Davey," he says, smiling slightly and holding out his hand. I grin back, still hesitant, before spitting into my own hand, and we slowly shake, our eyes still locked.

_All right,_ I think. _So, maybe Jack doesn't hate me. He wouldn't spitshake if he did. I'll get my chance. Everything will be fine._

But I'm still hesitant, and, I believe, not without good reason. Jack isn't looking at me now; instead, he's looking away, through the crowd, and something about the intensity of his search worries me, frightens me.

Suddenly, Sarah bursts through the crowd, looking flushed and expectant. I realize, almost offhandedly, that Jack has stopped his concentrated search and is looking at her intently.

Then, without warning, before I can say a single word or make a single movement, the man I love is putting his arms around my sister, dipping her slightly, and kissing her full on the mouth.

My eyes widen, but, swallowing the rising lump in my throat, I make a weak attempt at a smile. My head is spinning, and I have absolutely no idea what to think, but I try to control my face and emotions. The boys are cheering louder than ever now, thumping Jack on the back and making catcalls, and I'm thrust into the middle of it, with a front-row view of the scene that is making me more ill with each passing second.

Why is he kissing her? Above all other emotions, I feel an unfathomable confusion; beyond betrayal, beyond hurt, beyond shock, I'm utterly perplexed. This is the boy who, just last night, told me, with tear-filled eyes, that he loved me. Me.

So why, in God's name, is his tongue in my sister's mouth?

I can't even think. My emotions are uncontrolled; my mind is a tangled mess. After all that I've experienced in the last two weeks, all of the new information and situations I've had to process, adapt to, and cope with, from becoming a newsie to starting a strike to falling in love with my new best friend, it is this moment that has left me the most confused and bewildered. Try as I might, I can't think of a single explanation for the scene laid out before me.

As my brain continues to swirl, Jack and Sarah finally separate, and I find myself thrown into a massive group hug, pressed in even harder on all sides. Jack is turned away from me and I can't see his eyes or expression, but Sarah is positively beaming, and I shoot her a strange half-smile, a weak attempt at the brotherly support I know she wants.

The crowd is thinning, now, as the newsies head back to the distribution center to buy the papes they'd been lined up to receive before Jack's return.

"Jack…" I begin, but my mind is still so confused that I have no idea what to say. Sarah and Les are still here, and I certainly don't want them to hear whatever I'm about to say, especially after what I've just witnessed.

Luckily, Jack, seeming to read my mind, turns to Les at that moment. "Hey, Les, how's about you go buy my papes for me, huh?" he suggests, handing Les a fifty-cent piece.

"Sure!" Les, eager to please Jack, snatches the piece immediately and runs over to the end of the long line.

Unwilling to once again miss my chance to speak, I turn to my sister. "Hey, Sarah, can you go make sure he doesn't get in any trouble? I need to talk to Jack for a minute."

Sarah seems hesitant, and I can tell she doesn't want to leave Jack so soon after their kiss. But when he, too, makes the same request, she quickly agrees and follows Les' path. Her eyes are still glowing, and, at this moment, I'm quite sure she'd be willing to jump off the Brooklyn Bridge if Jack asked her to.

Now, the two of us are alone, for the first time since that awful conversation in the distribution basement. We look at each other for a few seconds, not speaking, then simultaneously step a few feet away to an alley between two of the smaller buildings in Newspaper Row. We're far enough away from the dissipating crowd for some semblance of privacy, but we still don't speak.

Leaning against the cold stone wall of one of the buildings, Jack opens his mouth, seemingly about to start the conversation. Then, a second later, he closes his mouth, looking at me to talk first.

But I can't talk first, because I have absolutely no idea what to say. My plans for this conversation had always involved spilling out my feelings amid a slew of rushed apologies, but this tactic now seems impossible. How can I tell him how I feel when he's just led the whole world to believe that he's in love with my sister?

But what if Jack really is in love with her? What if he was just confused when he talked to me; what if he really does want her?

I want to push the thoughts away, but they seem all too plausible, and that frightens me. In all of my inner turmoil, the one constant fact had always been that Jack loved me. It was my love that was up for debate, not his. And as I realize, slowly, that even that fact can be changed, my mind is thrown once again into chaos.

Jack clears his throat, seemingly taking my silence as a hint, and I look up into his face, hoping for some sort of explanation that can fix this twisted mess.

"Well, Dave, I guess I just couldn' stay away, huh?" he begins, hesitantly. His falsely cocky smile falters a bit as he looks to me for a response.

"Why'd you come back?" The question is blunt and more than a little rude, but it's all I can think of to say.

His face falls, much like it did last night, when I shattered his world with a few harsh words and drove him away.

"I… God, Dave, I'm sorry, ok? I know I scabbed, I know I betrayed youse, an' I know ya hate me for it. And I'm sorry. But I couldn' leave, I couldn' just abandon all da newsies- an' I couldn' just leave you. Even if ya do hate me." He's running his hand through his hair again, his trademark nervous habit.

"I don't hate you." My voice is tiny and quiet, but I know he can hear me.

"You don't?" He looks incredulous, but I can see the beginnings of an unsure grin spreading across his face.

I shake my head vehemently. "I don't. I never did." If nothing else is sorted out in this conversation, I need him to know this much.

Jack looks positively jubilant. "Well, tha's great, then. We can be friends again, an' sellin' partners, an' everythin'll be like it was befoah da strike, 'an-"

"Why did you kiss her?" I interrupt. If I don't ask now, I know I won't be able to regain the courage later. And I need to know. Before I say anything else, I need to know why he kissed her. Because, try as I might, I simply can't think of an explanation that makes any sort of sense.  
"What?" The question seems to catch Jack unawares, and his brow creases in confusion at my sudden change of topic.

"Why did you kiss Sarah? Why did you kiss my sister?" My hands are twitching a bit as I speak, and I run them compulsively over the legs of my trousers, pretending to smooth out invisible wrinkles.

"I… well…" he stutters, scuffing his boots into the cobblestones as he searches for words. "Well, it was just a spur o' the moment thing, ya know? I was happy to be back, an' she was there, an' it jus'… happened."

"Right. 'It just happened.' Jack, I'm not stupid. Just tell me the truth." I feel hurt. After all this, after everything we've gone through, he's still lying to me?

Jack sighs. "Fine. I'm sorry, Dave. The fact is, ever'thin' I told ya last night is true. I can't deny it, an' I won'. But I know I gotta get ovah it. An' I figgered, well… yer sistah's real pretty, an' she seems ta like me... An' I thought maybe I could make myself like her, too. Be, well… noimal, an' all. Since I know you don' feel da way I do."

"That's not true."

I still don't completely understand his reasons, and I certainly don't like his willingness to use my sister. But I know I have to take this opportunity, or risk never managing to get the words out.

"What?" Jack looks up, staring at me with puzzled eyes.

"That's not true. What you said. About… about me not feeling the same way." I'm avoiding his gaze, blushing slightly.

"You mean…" His voice is full of tentative hope.

I nod, slowly. I don't have to say it.

"Oh… oh God… I…" Jack's face is pale, and he collapses against the stone wall of the building, looking like he's about to faint.

Hurriedly, I begin my frenzied explanation, the words tripping and tumbling out of my mouth as I fight to say all I need to say before I lose my nerve.

"Jack, I'm sorry. I was scared- I don't even know what I was scared of, but I was scared. I was scared out of my mind. These last two weeks have been more pressure than anything I've ever experienced, in my entire life, and when you said all that last night… I just couldn't take it. Because I couldn't admit to my feelings, couldn't add to all the pressure that was already there. So I exploded, and I yelled, and I said things I didn't mean, things I never would have said at any other time, at any other place, because they weren't true. And I hated myself for it, even then, and I hated that I was hurting you, and I didn't know what I was doing, and then I realized what I'd done, and I knew exactly what I felt, and I wanted to tell you, and fix it, and then you left, and I felt like dying, almost, and then you came back, but you were kissing Sarah, and I didn't know what to think, but now you're here and I'm sorry, I really, really am, and I… I love you."

Gasping for breath, I lean tiredly against the opposite wall, searching Jack's eyes for a reaction. For a moment, his expression remains blank; then, suddenly, his face breaks into a huge, glowing, semi-cocky grin.

"Come here, Dave," he says, and, stepping away from his wall, he wraps his arms around my shoulders, pulling me into a tight embrace. I look up at him, smiling just as broadly, as he tips his face forward, moving closer to my lips. At this moment, I want nothing more than to touch those lips with my own, to latch on and never, ever let go. But no. There's still one more thing he has to explain, before I'll allow myself to fall completely under his spell.

"Wait." Jack looks up, his face barely an inch from mine, and I quickly disentangle myself from his arms.

"What?" he asks. He looks slightly disappointed, and even more perplexed.

"Look," I begin, "You know I forgive you for all you did during the strike. But I can't say I'm happy that you were willing to just use Sarah like that. I mean… she's my sister, Jack! How could you do something like that, kiss her in front of everyone, when you knew you didn't love her?"

Jack seems exasperated, but I have no pity for him. I need this explanation.

"Dave…" Jack begins. "Da fact is, yeah, I didn' love her. But ya gotta believe me- I really thought I could, someday. And I nevah woulda done it if I'd known how you felt, and I nevah woulda done it if I didn't think I could make her happy. And I really did think it coulda worked. I nevah woulda shamed yer family or nothin'. I woulda stayed with her forevah. I would nevah have 'used' her. Not Sarah. Not your sistah. It's not in my charactah."

I nod, slowly. "Fine. I believe you. But what about now? What's done is done, and she's gonna expect more, after that. How are you going to fix that, without hurting her? Because I won't let you string her along."

Jack sighs, shrugging slightly. "Well, Dave, I guess I'll just tell 'er what I told you, at foist. That I got caught up in da spirit o' the moment. She won' like it, but what'm I s'posed ta do? She'd be hoit anyway, if I nevah showed any interest. Theah's really no way not to hoit 'er. But I'll try my best to let 'er down easy. And I'd nevah, evah string her along."

I nod again. It's not the best scenario, but Jack's right; there's really no alternative. My sister is a strong person, and I know she'll survive. I don't want to hurt her, of course. But there really is no other way. "Ok," I reply, finally, more to myself than to Jack. "Ok. Everything will be ok."

Jack lets out an exasperated breath. "Alright. Now, can I kiss you already?" He's tapping his foot impatiently, but the laughing smile on his face and the spark in his brown eyes betray his real emotions.

"Yes, Jack. I think you can kiss me now. I think I'd like that very much." I'm sure my eyes are sparkling, too.

"Ok, then," Jack responds, taking me back into his arms and leaning toward me once again. My eyes flutter shut as I tilt my head upward, leaning into the cool stone wall behind me, and fall, finally, into the combined bliss of victory and love.

**Shoutouts:**

Silver Starling:

Well, I didn't exactly continue it "right now", but I hope you don't eat me for it. Thanks for the comment, and many apologies for tormenting you!

Random Newsies Fan:

Glad you liked the story. :) Sorry I made you cry; hopefully the happy ending makes up for it.

Will (Illumina):

Heh. I'm usually much more long-winded, so writing this with such a choppy style was actually a bit of a challenge for myself. I guess I'm still better at longer sentences, though. Thanks for the constructive criticism.

Hotshot:

Eep. I hope I made the conclusion to your liking and didn't disappoint. Your compliments are very flattering. Muchas gracias.

geometrygal:

Is "implied" lip action enough? Lol. Well, I did make them happy, at least. That's good enough, right? Many thanks for the compliment.

Omni:

See, I made it all work out! No more sniffling. The boys can live happily ever after. :) Thanks for the review.

Tallia:

First of all, where did you goooo? You've completely disappeared. sniff Well, it's nice to know you liked the story. I hope you like the conclusion, if you read it. I'm really sorry for making you wait so long for it.

Kittie:

So, did the last chapter live up to your expectations? I hope you enjoyed it. This is already my view of what actually "happens" in the scenes we don't see, and I'll probably base future stories off of that background. So, it's cool to know someone else will believe the same thing. I'm glad you like the story.

The Beckster:

Glad I made you smile. And yes, woot to RENT chapter titles. :) Hope you liked the last chapter, even though it wasn't quite finished "pronto". Thanks for reading!

skinflint:

Thanks so much for the compliments; I'm really trying to work on characterization, so I'm glad you thought I did it ok. And you're welcome for the review; you definitely deserved it. And it makes me feel warm and fuzzy that I inspired someone. :) Thanks again- and woot to the RENTslash!love.

Skywise:

Thanks for being such a great supporter of my story. Your reviews made me quite happy, and I'm really glad you liked it. I'm just sorry this chapter took so long! I hope you like it. And you should im me sometime, because I just realized I've never actually spoken to you, and I'd like to. 'Cause you seem really cool. :)

B (studentnumber24601):

Wow, I never realized you were my first review. Woot to that! Your reviews really were awesome, and totally made my day. I'm glad you liked the story- your opinion means a lot to me, as I have so, so much respect and love for your writing. So the compliments made me quite happy, indeed. I hope you like this chapter; I tried my best. And thanks again. See you soon. :)

Alicia (Shimmerwings):

What can I say? You have been an absolutely amazing supporter of this story. I haven't talked to you in quite some time, which makes me sad, but I know you've been busy. But please know that you are missed. This story, especially chapter 3, could never have been finished without you, and I thank you a million times over for all your help, reviews, and support. And you're such a talented, wonderful writer yourself that your support of my writing has meant even more. Many, many hugs.

Lauren:

Sure, you've never physically reviewed this, but after all I put you through with this story, you certainly deserve a shoutout. I love you to death, you know that? God, you're awesome. Thank you for being such a wonderful friend, and a wonderful beta, and just all around wonderful, all the time. I really and truly could not have written this without you. I'm sorry for all I put you through with this (especially the awful dialect!), and I congratulate you on not murdering me. Hugs, a million times over.

Jess, Isa, Allie, Aldo, Melissa, and all my other Real Life Friends:

None of you have physically reviewed this, either. However, I do want to thank you all for putting up with me during the writing of this story. I know I was obnoxious, and made you guys read stuff you probably would never have read otherwise, and made you listen to my whining and cheering and all that as I got to different parts. But, you guys were there, and I can't thank you enough for dealing with me. I couldn't have done it without you all. Thanks for not killing me. ;)

Thank you. Everyone. I love you all.

Harmony

10/9/03


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